


Come Here, Let's Dance

by versaphile



Series: Holidays [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005), Torchwood
Genre: Episode: 2007 Xmas Voyage of the Damned, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-01
Updated: 2008-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-25 11:16:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile/pseuds/versaphile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A New Year's party with friends, a new start for lovers. Spoilers for VOTD.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come Here, Let's Dance

"You jumped right ahead, didn't you?" Jack says, the next time the Doctor sees him.

The Doctor looks down at himself. He'd switched his tux for his favourite suit, cleaned himself up. "What gave it away?" he asks, self-consciously.

Jack just smiles. "You're glowing."

"Glowing?" the Doctor frowns, wondering if he's picked up some sort of phosphorescent bacteria. He peers at his hands. "I don't look like I'm glowing."

"That's because you don't know what to look for," Jack says, and gives him a welcoming kiss. It goes on for a bit.

The Doctor's cheeks are pink when he pulls away. Maybe he shouldn't have rushed ahead to the thirty-first, given himself some time to adjust to this new thing of theirs, but he's never been much for patience. Also, he didn't want to wait. He likes how it makes him feel all fluttery and warm inside. 

"So where's the party?" he asks, bouncing on his heels. "Balloons and silly hats, stealing bits of clock?"

Jack doesn't take the bait. "My place. Come on, Martha's waiting."

The Doctor was expecting a big to-do in the Hub, and he wonders if Jack still thinks he doesn't like it in there. He doesn't _like_ Torchwood's existence, even if it's not the same organization that he associates with the name, but he's in a good enough mood for it not to bother him. "We could go in, say hello," he offers. "Still got whatsisname, Owen? He was cranky."

"I sent 'em home," Jack says. "Torchwood has a pro-socialisation policy now. Gwen's idea. They get out of the Hub, they don't go crazy."

"Huh," the Doctor says. "That's a thought."

They leave the TARDIS on its usual spot on the Plass and walk to Jack's flat. 

"Martha got your message," Jack says, conversationally. "You could have called when she was actually awake, you know."

"Not my fault if you humans need so much sleep," the Doctor protests. He looks askance at Jack, trying not to be obvious about his uncertainty. He's still feeling wary about Martha, the sting of rejection still fresh despite Jack's reassurances. He's also aware enough of how she feels about him to worry that this thing with Jack is only going to make things worse. He has a habit of making things worse. He feels his euphoria wilt a bit and intently avoids thinking about it. He wonders if this was a bad idea after all.

"Everything quiet, then?" the Doctor asks, hoping there's some minor alien threat they'll need to be pulled away for. He looks up at the sky, and it's dark and clear, empty but for the stars, the odd plane or satellite, and a bare sliver of the moon. There's old snow on the ground, dirty and iced over. He missed a real snowfall sometime between Christmas Day and now.

"So far so good," Jack says. He rests a hand on the Doctor's back, and it's comforting and just a bit possessive. It's nice. Maybe the alien threats can wait.

When they enter Jack's flat, Martha hurries up to greet them. "Doctor!" she cries, and tackles him with a hug. "Oh, it's so good to see you."

"Happy New Year," the Doctor says, warmly. The knot in his stomach loosens; it's good to see her smile. He always liked her smile.

"I said I'd see you again, mister," she tells him. 

"Right as ever," he says, lightly. "Still saving the world?"

"Can't seem to break the habit," she says, rather proudly. Takes his hand and tugs him into the living room. He's decided he quite likes this room. And the rest of Jack's flat, including... well, including the bedroom. But now isn't the time for that.

It's all very domestic, but despite his earlier avowal he wouldn't have missed this for the world.

Jack takes his coat and brings him a drink. There's half a pizza in a box on the table, just barely still warm, and he takes a slice. It's not bad. Martha tells him about her family, about her sister's latest job which she's almost absolutely certain isn't backed by a megalomaniac, about her parents' faltering reunion, about her brother who still doesn't quite believe them about that lost year. And she tells him a surprise that makes him sit up and grin.

"You're working for UNIT now? That's fantastic!" he says. "Oh, good on you."

"Well, after everything that's happened, the hospital wasn't enough," she says. "After I finished my exams they offered me a job, plus I'm their Torchwood liaison. I can't believe how many aliens there are on Earth, and nobody notices."

"Until they make a fuss or start an invasion," Jack adds. "Then we deal with them."

The Doctor can't help but give Jack a look. "Deal with them?"

"Yes," Jack says, not backing down. 

The Doctor looks away first. He'd have lectured Jack about violence before the Valiant, even after, but he's trying not to make every death in the universe his responsibility. He can feel Jack watching him. He finishes off his fizzy drink and excuses himself to the kitchen.

He shouldn't have rushed ahead. This is one time when he would have been better off on the slow path. Or, coward that he is, not come at all. Left Jack a message the way he'd left Martha one and found some crisis to fling himself into. It's not too late; he could slip away and back to the TARDIS. But he can't. Staying scares him in a way much deeper than any monster, but leaving would be worse because if he did that he might not be able to make himself come back at all.

He's standing there like a fool with an empty glass in his hand when Jack comes in.

"You didn't come back," Jack says, and the Doctor realizes he's been frozen with indecision for several minutes. Jack takes the glass from his hand and sets it aside.

The Doctor stares at his empty hand. Clenches it, lets it fall to his side. "Couldn't decide what I wanted," he says. Pastes on a smile and looks up. "Have you ever had apple cider? The American sort. Of course you have. There's none around here but I could pop over and check the shops, won't be more than a few minutes. Martha will like it. It's good stuff, get it nice and hot and drop some cinnamon in, maybe nutmeg, or one of those sticks, they're made of bark you know, did I ever tell you about the cinnamon forest on the moon of Uxor?" He takes a step back as he's babbling, feeling his resolve weaken, planning his exit. He's stopped by Jack's hand on his arm. He stares at it numbly, unable to make himself pull away.

"You're staying," Jack tells him, calm and even. "At least until Big Ben. Okay?"

The Doctor can't respond to that right away. His chest is hurting again. He could leave, he could leave, he could leave _right now_ , but he can't. He can't. He breathes out. "Okay," he says.

"Martha brought champagne," Jack says. "You can pop the bottle."

The sudden memory hurts. It hurts more than he would have guessed, but it would have been even worse if Jack wasn't here. But Jack is here, Jack is being here for him, Jack knows and is trying to help. The Doctor kisses him because he has to do something and it seems like the best option.

Jack is startled by the sudden kiss, but quickly relaxes, holds him. Rests a hand to the side of his head. Draws back, and his eyes flick past the Doctor's shoulder. The Doctor turns.

"Don't mind me," Martha says, faintly embarrassed but not upset. 

"Oh. Um. I..." the Doctor stammers.

"I already told her," Jack says, reassuringly.

"It's all right, really," Martha says, meeting his eyes. "I'm happy for you."

"Oh," the Doctor says, rather at a loss. And then she hugs him, the way she hugged him when she said goodbye, but this time it doesn't feel like he's losing something precious.

"Jack told me about the Titanic," she says, gently. "I know you're hurting, but it'll be all right. I promise. Just come back in."

The Doctor can only nod and do as he is told. He feels stupidly lucky to have the both of them. 

The rest of the evening passes more easily. He soaks up the warmth of their friendship, their laughter, and he's glad he stayed. He's glad they made him stay. He's glad they know him well enough to know that's what he needed.

Martha's yawning by the time it's almost midnight, but she's determined to stay up for the new year. 

"It's all relative, of course," the Doctor says. "It's already 2009 if you look at it the right way."

"Don't spoil the fun," Martha says, and sticks out her tongue. 

They watch the countdown and pop the champagne and toast to the new year. It's a bit strange to celebrate something as common and insignificant as the passing of a second, but he knows it's not the second that's really the point. 

Jack offers Martha the couch for the night, but she turns it down. "I just want my own bed," she says, longingly. 

She hugs Jack, and then turns to the Doctor. "You, no more messages when you know I'm asleep. Call me properly next time."

"Yes, ma'am," the Doctor says, smiling crookedly. 

"And don't be away so long," she says, more gently. Pulls him into a hug and squeezes tight. "I was never angry with you. It was just hard for me. And now we're both in a different place, and that's better."

The moment she leaves, the Doctor misses her all over again. He stares at the closed door until Jack clears his throat. The look in Jack's eyes says everything, and together they go to the bedroom. Finally.

Yet for all his anticipation, the Doctor is still nervous. Doesn't quite know what to do with his hands. It all seems fraught with the wrong kind of peril. He's not even sure how he ended up in this situation, in this, well, _relationship_. It's not really something he does, generally. Sex. Not that he never wants it, but he just... avoids it, really. 

His people weren't exactly enamoured of emotional and physical intimacy. But then his people weren't exactly enamoured of interfering or of humanity, and the Doctor is very fond of both. It was humans who taught him about friendship, about a lot of things. And Jack is one of the most human humans he's ever met.

He realizes Jack is watching him with a fond smile on his face. 

"Sorry," the Doctor says. "This is all sort of..." He searches for the right words. "I thought it'd be easier the second time."

"Not always," Jack says, and if anyone knows it's him. "Just relax. It's not a race. Just you and me." He steps close and touches him, strokes his arm. Nothing that'd force the issue, just an easy start. The Doctor's chest tightens, relaxes. Jack is close, very close, and the Doctor bravely removes those last inches of distance, kisses him. 

"Happy new year," Jack murmurs.

The Doctor gives a soft laugh. "Happy new year," he replies. Kisses him again, more confidently this time. It's good and he likes it and wants there to be more. He likes that he wants there to be more.

They kiss for a while. He doesn't pay attention to the little clock inside him that perpetually ticks away his own personal time. He lets his other senses drown that one out. The feel of Jack's shirt under his hands, the warmth of his body, the softness of his lips. This is a safe place for him, this bedroom, this flat, this man. Jack is a constant. He's not going away in a cosmic blink. He doesn't have to be afraid.

It's Jack who gently guides him to the bed to sit, but it's the Doctor who reaches for the buttons of Jack's shirt. Stares in fascination as he opens them one by one, as he slides his fingers between the open gap and touches skin. Feels Jack's single, beating heart, that's been beating for over a hundred years, that will beat forever. He knows there's a way to make it stop, but he's far too selfish to even offer it. Jack's life was a gift, and he tells himself it's not his place to return it. It's a lie he's comfortable with.

He feels regret that he left Jack on the gamestation. Regret that Jack never had a chance to talk to Rose again, for them to be friends for longer. He was a coward and Jack waited for him for so long and somehow still loves him, and he doesn't understand it at all. It's such a mystery to him that someone could love him that much.

Jack's hand covers his own, large and warm. Steady. An anchor when the Doctor's mind is so filled with thoughts that it might spin forever. 

"Please, I..." he whispers, imploringly. He's lost, and needs Jack to show him the way.

Somehow, without words, Jack understands. He releases his hand and unbuttons the Doctor's jacket, one-two. Opens the buttons of his shirt with patient slowness, so the Doctor could stop him at any time, could bring all this to a halt with a single motion. He doesn't, and Jack pushes off the jacket, lets it fall to the bed. Unknots his tie and drops it to the floor. Opens his shirt and touches his body.

The Doctor takes a shuddering breath as Jack caresses him, runs his broad fingers down his front, his sides, up his back. Even though he's still clothed, he feels stripped bare, vulnerable and naked, but there's nothing to fear. Jack has touched him like this before. There's only sweetness here.

At last he reaches out himself to touch Jack the way he is touched, to feel how alive he is, how _present_. The universe blurs around him, and now the butterflies in his stomach are of desire and not fear. Jack is wrong, but there's nothing wrong about him. 

They kiss again, long and passionate, and Jack sheds the Doctor's shirt and then his own. He pulls the Doctor down onto the bed, and they press together, tangling in each other, and the Doctor's hearts ache with fullness. 

For all his immortality, Jack is only human, and the Doctor can see how much he wants him, is hungry for him despite his patience. Can feel the bulge in his jeans, a match for his own. The Doctor can stop his own hearts, can choose his arousal, and tonight he finds himself embracing it. Feeling the shift of blood, the ache of erection. It makes him yearn to be touched, and Jack must be feeling the same.

He rests his hand over the bulge of Jack's jeans and squeezes. Jack moans and his hands grip the Doctor tightly and his eyes, oh his eyes. Burning with desire, with need.

"Tell me what you want," the Doctor says. He doesn't know his own desires, and he owes Jack so much. He wants to give him what he's burning for.

"I want you to fuck me," Jack says, hoarsely. "Is that all right?"

"I... yes," the Doctor says, wanting to give him that. He meets Jack's eyes. "It's just... I'm not sure..."

"I'll help you," Jack says, touching him, cupping his face. "I'll help." He closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, the heat in them is more scalding than a sun. The Doctor can't look away from it. Jack's whole body shifts, his restraint fading away, replaced by open lust, fierce desire. 

"God, I can't believe..." Jack says, voice tight. "I'm not sure this is real. I don't want to have you and then wake up from this."

"You're not dreaming," the Doctor says, fondly. "Maybe I am, but..."

Jack replies to that with a hungry kiss, with rising and pressing the Doctor against the bed. There's no more words, just hands and mouths and bodies. Jack opens both their trousers and grips the Doctor's narrow hip, pushes down his trousers, his pants. Drags his fingers down and strips away the last of his clothes, strips the Doctor bare and looks down at him like he's planning to conquer every inch of his body. Takes hold of the Doctor's arching cock and strokes it firmly, steadily, until the Doctor is helpless beneath him. 

"Jack," the Doctor moans, looks up at him hazily. "Jack, I..." He finds his courage. "Show me what to do."

Jack looks overcome for a long moment, and then he sits up, strips off the rest of his clothes. The Doctor saw him naked not half a day before, but it's such a new thing for him. Not nakedness itself, but allowing himself to feel desire for it. Not suppressing those ancient instincts the way he was taught as a child. Seeing the beauty of his body, his cock, and reaching out to touch with the intention of pleasure. He wants to make Jack feel good.

He pushes himself up and pushes Jack down onto his back and it's his turn to touch, to stroke and explore, to make Jack writhe on the bed. He's always been a quick learner, and every fresh second he learns something new about this body before him, about the man who inhabits it. Feels where the heat of his body is centred, where the nerves cluster, the texture of skin and hair, the sensitivity of soft skin. That Jack loves to be touched on his side and his inner thighs, that he's not afraid to take the Doctor's hand and guide him, that the Doctor's inexperience is not a disappointment to him. 

"There's lube in the drawer," Jack says, when he's ready.

The Doctor reaches over to the bedside table and finds the bottle. Opens it and sniffs it, and instinctively analyzes the chemical structure. Decides that now is not the time to talk about such things.

"Pour some in your hand," Jack tells him. "Not too much. You want to cut down on friction, not get rid of it."

"Okay," the Doctor says, and squeezes out a shallow palmful. Brings it to his cock and drags his hand back and forth until it's slick all over. When he looks up, Jack is staring at him intently. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No. Just a thought," Jack says, voice thick with lust. "Something for later."

Later sounds good. The Doctor likes that there's a later.

"Now me," Jack says, pushes himself up and moves onto all fours. He looks back over his shoulder. "Put it on your fingers, and use a bit more this time. Push it inside me."

The Doctor kneels before Jack with slick fingers and rests his dry hand on the small of his back. Strokes it in a comforting circle, slides it down to caress one cheek. He's seen humans have sex this way, it's not so very alien to him. He presses a finger to Jack's arsehole and carefully pushes inside. It slides in easily. He moves it back and forth, pressing against the inside, fascinated. Tries a second, and Jack makes a sound that definitely means he likes it.

"Good," Jack says, breathily. "Get in as much as you can. Deep as you can. That's it."

The Doctor smiles at the arousal in his voice. "I quite like this bit," he says, and tries three fingers because that seems like a good idea.

Jack groans and tightens around his fingers. "Curl your fingers," he says.

"Like this?" The Doctor curls them, moves around. Feels a change in texture, and when he touches there Jack tightens again and moans. He does it a few more times until he has the hang of it.

"Okay, okay," Jack gasps. "That's the prostate. You wanna aim for that."

"It feels good?"

"Very," Jack says. He moves off of the Doctor's hand, turns around. Pushes him onto his back again and strokes his slickened cock. "I want to see your face."

"It is a rather nice one," the Doctor says, grinning up at him.

"Cheeky," Jack says, then climbs over him, kneels and reaches down and guides the Doctor's cock inside him as he lowers himself down. 

The Doctor's grin slides into a gasp, and then he's the one moaning with sensation. He feels the urge to buck his hips and follows it, and does it again.

"That's it," Jack breathes. Slides down further, tight and hot around him, clenching and releasing. His cock juts out and up, thick and dark, and the Doctor wants nothing but to touch it so he does. 

Jack rises and falls, and the Doctor finds the urge to push into him is growing stronger. Those old instincts are right there, right at the surface, and he embraces them. Forgets all about all the wrong things he was taught because right now he doesn't want to be a Time Lord, he wants to be a human, and even if he's spent almost all of his life denying it it's in his DNA. He stops thinking and surrenders himself to his body.

He watches Jack as he rides him, watches his half-closed eyes, his flushed body, his flexing thighs. Such strength, such passion and life. He wants more of it, wants to hold it tight, to lose himself in it. He can't quite do it, not the way he wants to, because Jack is in the lead and that was good until now because he wants to be in the lead.

"Jack," he says, roughly. "I want... Please, I want..." Words aren't enough, aren't even accessible, but there's a better way. He pushes himself up, presses his dry hand to Jack's face, and _shows_ him what he wants.

Jack gasps, his eyes open. He looks down at the Doctor, nods. Rises off him and lies down, knees bent and thighs spread, and the Doctor kneels over him. Grips him below the hip and holds him up and pushes himself inside. Jack's thighs grip at his waist, and it's like a revelation, this lust, this drive. His hips snap as he thrusts into Jack, as he fucks him. 

Jack suddenly grins, laughs. "That's it," he says again, and this time he _really_ sounds like he means it. "Come on, _show me_."

The Doctor grins, growls, makes the image he sent real. Lets loose this strange, natural desire, fucks Jack hard and makes him gasp and moan. There's nothing in this that he didn't already know, deep down. It's like he's pouring himself out, trying to get himself deep into another person, into Jack. He smells sweat and musk and pheromones, the rich scent of Jack's body mingling with his own. Salt and honey. 

He braces himself with one hand and grips Jack's cock with the other, determined to make him come. The sounds Jack's making build, and when he comes it's with a laugh of a shout, and his cock pulses in the Doctor's hand, and the sharp bitter scent of come fills the air. Jack clenches around him, taking control even as his orgasm is tapering off.

"Doctor," Jack groans. "Come for me. Show me. Come on."

The Doctor's rhythm falters. He feels suddenly vulnerable again, having given Jack his pleasure. He wasn't prepared to face his own. But Jack is ready, hitching himself up, drawing him in. He's caught in Jack's gaze and doesn't want to escape. Raw emotion wells in his chest, and he finds his rhythm again, finds that Jack is guiding him and that's what he needs. He moves faster, feeling need, feeling an ache in his cock and his chest and everywhere, and the only cure is in the man beneath him.

He's breathing fast when it happens, and it's sudden, so strangely unexpected even though it's the least new thing in all of this. His eyes go wide as he freezes, buried deep, and then shivers and his hips stutter. His whole body flushes as pleasure washes through him, as he pulses inside, and it leaves him gasping, reeling in its wake. It was so much more this time, when he came.

Jack holds him, strokes his back, brushes damp hair from his forehead. Looks up at him with devotion, with love. Draws him up and kisses him, hugs him. The Doctor holds him like a lifeline.

Jack pulls the covers up around them and they lie together in the dark, both too awake to sleep. But this is nice too, cuddling. It's very nice. He hopes they do it again.

Neither of them speaks, because they're too caught up in each other's eyes for words.

At some point the Doctor does nod off, because he wakes to the morning light and the sound of children singing in Welsh. 

"Welsh tradition," Jack mutters, sleepily. 

"It's lovely," the Doctor says, listening to their slightly wobbly voices. He's tempted to go out and watch them but he can't imagine leaving this bed. He listens until they leave, then snuggles back down again.

As he watches Jack sleep, he thinks about how much he wants to take him with him. He knows that asking would be a bad idea, though. Jack has a life here, people who depend on him, a home. Jack needs to stay where he is, but the Doctor doesn't want to rush ahead even if it's just to see him again.

It's not until they're having breakfast that he works up the courage to say it. "I'd like to stay," he says, carefully. "Just for a day or two. Is that all right?"

"Of course," Jack says, and gives him a happy kiss. "I'd love that. I love you."

The Doctor ducks his head. Squirms. He can't say those words. It's still beyond him. "Thank you," he says instead.

"You're glowing again," Jack teases.

"I know," the Doctor says. And this time he does.


End file.
